Baby Steps
by Lala Kate
Summary: George has a mishap, forcing his mother to confront a long-held fear. One-shot set in the world of "In the Company of Strangers".


_For those of you reading Strangers, this drabble is set somewhere between what I currently envision will be Ch. 23 and the conclusion, right now predicted to be Ch. 25. These numbers can and do change, mind you…_

_And yes—a sequel is in the planning stages. Thank you so much for all who offered such words of support for the idea._

_This drabble is ahead of the current chapters, keep in mind, so there is some foreshadowing involved. But no true spoilers, in my opinion. Still—you have been alerted. :)_

_Thanks so much to La Donna Ingenua for the prompt and the idea. _

* * *

She was tired of waiting.

Mary paced the small patch of floor wordlessly, wishing she had the fortitude to walk up the steps to the second floor and despising herself for her weakness in being unable to do so. Her son was up there, probably terrified as he was being treated by Dr. Clarkson. She knew that Isobel's presence would offer him some modicum of comfort, but she was George's mother, for God's sake. She should be the one cradling him, reassuring him, speaking words of comfort into his ear as she stroked the softness of his dark head.

But the memories from that floor were still too raw, erecting an invisible barrier between her and her son that appeared too daunting for her shaky resolve to breech.

Mary hung her head, ashamed of herself.

Yes—she knew what he would tell her if he stood beside her now. He would assure her that her feelings were natural, that she should grant herself a measure of grace and trust Dr. Clarkson and Isobel to care for George without such self-incriminating guilt. It was odd, really, how his absence had alerted her to just how much she had come to depend upon him in a rather short period of time. A part of her was still angry at herself for allowing the development of this dependency when she had sworn so fervently for months that she would forbid any such incursion into her life.

But the need had been established. And she missed Charles horribly.

"Mary," Isobel's voice cut in, the older woman striding purposefully in her direction. "Don't look so stricken, my dear. George is fine."

She exhaled a breath that had been bottled up for what seemed like hours, stifling the urge to bury her head in her hands and cry tears of relief.

"He does require some stitches, however, so you will likely hear him scream quite loudly," Mrs. Crawley continued, clasping one of Mary's hands within her own. "I wanted to alert you to that fact so you wouldn't worry when you heard him."

"Stitches?" Mary questioned, her eyes widening slightly. "How many, do you think?"

"I should say three or four will do the trick," Isobel returned with a small smile. "He does have quite a knot on his forehead, but that will go away in time. Just be thankful that there is no concussion or any broken bones to set."

"I am, of course," Mary replied earnestly, her gaze searching the floor as she clasped her hands together. "Should I go up there with you?" she finally ventured, a slight tremor in her chin threatening to crack her tenuous grasp on her demeanor.

"Only if you want to, my dear," Isobel soothed, gazing upon her daughter-in-law. "But there is no need. I shall hold him myself the entire time and deliver him back to you safe and sound when it is all over."

Mary nodded, her thoughts tumbling over each other in such a manner that she had to stifle the urge to bolt out the front door just to clear her head. She caught herself longing for the presence of two men simultaneously, one lost to her forever, the other due to return in the next two weeks.

She only hoped all could be resolved between them.

"How could I have been so reckless?" she questioned, more to herself than to Isobel whose gaze she could not bear at the moment.

"All children must fall down the stairs at one point or another, I'm afraid," Mrs. Crawley put in reassuringly. "It is almost a rite of passage in the growing up process."

"Yes, but he has only been walking a short time," Mary proclaimed, her brows drawn together in consternation. "How could he have gotten away from me so quickly?"

Isobel paused, pursing her lips together before drawing a decided breath.

"Matthew was two," she began, staring into memories that both pierced and healed. "And unfortunately for me, it happened when we were visiting my in-laws. The fall actually knocked out one of his baby teeth, a fact which greatly angered my mother-in-law as the poor boy had so few to begin with at the time."

Mary could not help but smile, imagining a young Matthew determinedly venturing where he should not, just as his son had done that very morning.

"Unfortunately, as a mother you must prepare yourself for such things," Isobel continued, squeezing Mary's hand in a show of solitude. "George is a growing boy, and the world just seems to hold endless opportunities for children to procure any number of scrapes and mishaps."

Other words remained unspoken, there being no need to discuss the obvious dangers that lurked all too closely for any mother's comfort.

"Why don't you just wait here, and I'll see to that grandson of mine?" Isobel stated, the brightness of her smile not quite genuine as her eyes glistened in spite of herself.

"Alright," Mary agreed quietly, "but you must promise to send for me if the need arises."

The other woman nodded her consent, turning to ascend the very stairs Mary could not bring herself to set foot upon.

Until George let out his first scream.

The cries of her son contained a power that propelled her towards the first step, an agonizing howl breaking a barrier as she dared a second and a third. Tears pricked her eyes as she followed the path of his distress, her walk morphing into a run until she burst through the door that stood between them.

The boy immediately threw out his arms to his mother. And he found himself clasped securely within them before another second had passed.

Half an hour later, they left for home. Mary still felt rather numb from the entire experience, clutching George tightly to her chest for the duration of the journey to Downton, the lad clinging to his mother as slight sniffles still wracked his small frame. He looked so very pitiful with the bruise on his head and stitches in his chin that she had no doubt the child would be made over and spoiled by every member of the household and staff.

She silently offered up words of thanks that he had not been badly injured as she wondered anew at just how her own mother and Isobel had borne such grief when it came to their children. George was not simply her son, but a part of her very being, an extension of her heart that somehow existed outside the confines of her own body. She felt his stitches even more keenly than he did, cursing herself silently again for allowing him to venture too near the stairs.

"I'm sorry," she breathed into his hair, kissing his curls lightly as she held him all the tighter. "I am so sorry, George."

"Mama," he babbled, pulling tears unbidden from her eyelids as his one simple word touched a hidden place reserved only for him.

He was her son—her life blood, and at the moment he was warm and safe, nestled in arms that would shield him fiercely from whatever harm she could. Clear blue eyes gazed up at her in adoration, a small smile finally forming upon cheeks ruddy from crying as dimpled hands touched the sides of her face. She smiled back at him through her tears, drawing unexpected peals of laughter from both of them as they each treasured this most precious bond in their own manner. They were together.

And for now, it was enough.


End file.
